Zoe remained in contact with him as a Seeker. This was as much as she could, which was infrequent. Once Alphonse contemplated a career change just to see her more. Then he told himself how idiotic that was. The Spire had its merits. He didn't hate the place so couldn't justify leaving.
The fourth time they saw each other since her becoming a Seeker, they met at a fishing spot near the docks. Zoe had bought small orange and almond tarts from a bakery. They varied their meeting spots to not make Zoe's superiors irate.
She ate faster than she usually would.
"How is your work schedule?" he asked, as some crumbs fell on her dress.
After swallowing some cake, she said, "Work is punishing me at the moment."
"What for?"
"I don't want to explain the circumstances, but I melted a hole in my work desk."
That only could have happened if Zoe had lost 'focus' on her emotions. He broke some of the cake off with his fingers.
"You must have been agitated."
Zoe looked out over at the boats tied to the dock. Seagulls flew overhead.
"Don't worry," she said. "It's just all the pressure. Seekers have a lot of responsibility, and sometimes I don't want it."
"Templar life provides enough responsibility. It must be horrendous for you," Alphonse said.
"Lay sister Danielle won't leave me alone too."
"What is she doing now?"
"She says the Seekers should portray an innocent, 'clean' image."
Alphonse snorted. "Yes, bloodshed is immensely clean."
Zoe rolled her eyes. "She asked me if my mind was pure and focused. What is that even supposed to mean?"
"Does the Lord Seeker ask the same?"
"No. He asks me to leave him alone in case it's something important. That being said, the Cathedral staff who clean the Seeker quarters told everyone else in the Cathedral about how I broke the desk, and they don't think the Lord Seeker's punishment was enough, so they are harassing me."
"I apologise you have been tortured by their ignorance. I sincerely hope the Lord Seeker's punishment was not as painful."
"I have to pay to fix the desk. That's fine, but it was more expensive than I anticipated. I've paid a third of it, and the rest of the coin will be taken from my pay over the next two weeks."
"Horrible."
"It's my own fault," Zoe said, then annoyed added, "They act like being aware of emotions is so easy."
"That's probably because they are only capable of two emotions," Alphonse said. "You are more complicated than that."
"Emotions are easy enough when I'm encountering something new. The vigil taught me how to cope with them," Zoe said. "But what about emotions that are stuck? I tried to explain to the Lord Seeker what had happened, and he said I wasn't trying hard enough, that I need to train more. Now I don't know whether he thinks I'm too smart for my own good or an idiot."
Her eyes filled with aggrieved tears.
"What do you mean by 'stuck'?" Alphonse asked. He ate the piece of cake he had broken off.
"Emotions that… they are intertwined with memories, vivid memories, where the emotions are so strong… they feel impossible to control."
Alphonse considered this idea. The only memory he thought might meet that description was the first Harrowing he observed which went wrong. Another Templar had mistakenly thought trying to chop off the possessed mage's head was a good idea. To omit the gory details, it wasn't. In the end a wound through the stomach had killed the mage. The spurting blood still made Alphonse feel ill.
"I hope there is another Seeker will know how to assist. This can not only affect you," Alphonse said.
"You're probably right. Some of the senior Seekers are elitists so they're intimidating, but I can think of two who would try help me."
"Would spending time at the Wintersend festivities help calm you down?"
Zoe smiled. "I don't know, but I want to go anyway."
The desk ordeal had made Zoe uncharacteristically vigilant, yet that reaction faded as the weeks passed. Today it was like none of it had happened. Today she was calmer as they spoke.
It wasn't only the market square that was vivacious with festivities for Wintersend. The entire city centre, along the docks, the market square, and nearby parks had been used for small shop fronts, live music, food stalls and the public displays of dance and theater. A thinner, yet dangerously slippery, layer of ice caked the pavement and the buildings. The sky was foggy yet orange sun beams melted pockets in the snow. Lines of lanterns lit the designated walkways, like they each had their own source of moonlight. In previous years the Templars used to have dinner and drinks as a group. Now, it was the two of them. He had lost count of the immature jokes his friends made about why he was visiting Zoe by himself. Some variation on 'So I can talk behind your backs, of course,' was his default response. While the line stopped their teasing, keeping up appearances was tiring.
Since all the chairs protected from the snow were taken, they sat on the stone surrounds of a statue. Despite it being damp, they finished eating grilled beef skewers while a dance performance occurred meters away.
Alphonse had tried to tone down his choice of clothing to not make her feel out of place, but the decision had been moot. Zoe had dressed so well he wondered if he had missed a more extravagant occasion on the calendar. Her hair was woven into a low plaited bun, she wore a white dress that had ruffles down to her knees, with the remainder of the ruffles a navy blue. The dress was held together by a corset like string at the back. The blue ruffles would have skimmed the ice if not for her shoes.
"It's a shame Kirkwall doesn't bother with Wintersend much," Zoe said, cleaning her fingers with a napkin. "I have a maleficar to hunt starting tomorrow. It could take a few weeks depending if the mage is smart enough to discover the Chantry's after him." She glanced at the statue behind her. "I can't make up my mind what is the bigger disappointment."
Alphonse had not expected to feel so upset. Waiting for a year with her training as a Seeker was a challenge, but he survived. He hadn't known much about her and it was easy to adjust with his books, and the friends he'd made because of her and Phillipa. The revelation of her leaving again felt devastating. He knew he had been growing attached, but this was ridiculous. A mere few weeks without her should be simple.
"I know, uh…" Alphonse said blankly. Why did he feel so self-doubting? He meant to say, I know what is most disappointing to me. But the words were stuck in his throat. Zoe didn't look distressed at the concept of traveling. She probably would find his strong reaction unappealing. After all, it wouldn't change the fact she had a job to do.
Alphonse could only stare at her with pleading eyes, as his mind numbed, thoughts coming to a standstill like the wintry breeze.
Zoe watched him, eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. "Were you... trying to say something?"
"Yes, I was," Alphonse said with a demure grin.
"Sorry," Zoe said, glancing down. "I didn't hear you."
"Neither did I," Alphonse said. Now he felt awkward. "I doubt it would interest you."
"That's unlike you."
"Pourquoi?" (*why?)
"You usually just… say what's on your mind. You don't worry about how it's going to sound."
"That is true to an extent. I do think about how it will sound, although most of the time I don't worry about it."
"So what's changed that now?"
"Don't worry yourself," he said. He took his scarf from around his neck and wrapped it around hers. The steam and smoke billowing from food stands, accompanied by the light displays, made her features temporarily blur. Winter couldn't leave; he wanted a memory of him to go with her.
Zoe repositioned the scarf neatly and said, "That's nice, but I don't remember saying I was cold."
Perhaps it was the look in her eyes, or the appeal of seeing her neck covered by his scarf, the fact that no matter how he tried to find words she waited patiently for them to arrive. Or maybe the singer nearby inspired him, attended by a lleoto and tambourin à cordes:
Et je cours. Je me raccroche à la vie. Je me saoule avec le bruit des corps qui m'entourent, comme des lianes nouées de tresses. Sans comprendre la détresse des mots que j'envoie
Alphonse thought of translating them to get the message across, but it was too much effort. She was everything. He wanted her to stay.
Never had life been so clearly represented in a single opportunity, a time where not taking a chance was suicide.
"I hope you return safely from your travels," Alphonse said, "and I wish you the best of luck."
Too overcome with the moment, he did something rash and kissed her nose. She didn't flinch or move as it happened. She was silent and docile. The glassy emerald of her eyes reflected the street lanterns. It was like she was looking at nothing, like she was homesick.
"Are you alright?" Alphonse asked.
Zoe met his regard, still looking wistful, and nodded.
And she might have been overwhelmed in the moment too, because she surprisingly brought her lips to his. She placed her cold fingers on his face.
It was technically multiple kisses as neither of them seemed content with the other pulling away. This yearning went on for possibly a minute, and there was too much noise and too much emotion to do anything but enjoy it. Despite wanting to hold her, he didn't. He didn't know how to touch her, not the right way, not how to make her fall into his arms, not how to make her feel safe in showing weakness. Startle her even a little; move abruptly and she would be gone.
Alphonse didn't like describing kissing her as a moment of stupidity, but it was hard to draw any other conclusion considering what followed.
Once Zoe pulled away, she smiled sheepishly.
He smiled too. She looked cute when she was shy.
"Andraste's tits," she muttered to the ground, and then her eyes met his. "I, um… hope that was okay."
Alphonse chuckled. "It was." He didn't know what to say. He was tempted to gush over her and say she was lovely but didn't want to sound needy. The silence went on for too long. "Would you like to see if there are some better seats free near the performers?"
"I was thinking… I- I need to go wash up," Zoe blurted out.
Smiling, half confident, half bashful, she stood.
"Are you feeling unwell?" Alphonse enquired, worried he had done something wrong.
"Not really," Zoe said, carefully, glancing over into the crowd. "It's… that lady problem, if you are really curious. The blood and... Oh Maker it's gross and embarrassing. Je suis tellement désole."
"Ah," Alphonse wasn't sure if he wanted to joke or just needed to fill the silence with his voice, "quelle horreur. Should I do anything?"
"No. Do nothing," Zoe said, looking flustered now. "Sorry. I didn't mean… It's going to bother me all night if I don't do something about it now. I've already left it too long."
"Are you certain there is nothing else wrong?"
"Yes. I'm fine. I'll be back in a moment."
She departed, and Alphonse waited. At first he felt unbelieving. It disappeared briefly, until he thought Zoe was taking longer than she should.
Still, Alphonse waited until the show was over, his heart aflutter, his thoughts increasingly doubtful, though he tried to focus on the song that still rang in his head.
Difficile d'appeler au secours quand tant de drames nous oppressent.
(*It's not easy to call for help drowned in so many tragedies.)
Zoe had left.
He walked back to the Spire pissed off at the music, food and all of Wintersend. He wondered what Zoe's behaviour had meant and had no idea. Maybe this was what Samson had dealt with and that was a different kind of frustrating.
He sang quietly to himself on the way back to the Spire.
Zoe wrote to him while she was traveling, although didn't mention their abrupt goodbye from Wintersend or the impulsiveness that had preceded it.
Alphonse found the strength to confront her at a moment he wasn't expecting. The two were drinking mulled coffee outside a park near the Cathedral. It wasn't the first time they'd spoken since her return.
"May I ask what you did with my scarf?" he enquired, amazed he had found his voice.
"Sorry. I forgot to bring it." Zoe appeared apologetic. "I didn't mean to keep it all this time. Do you want it back?"
"You can keep it," Alphonse said, letting the steam of coffee warm his chin, "but I still wonder what happened after I gave it to you."
It was bright and sunny in Val Royeaux, which helped with the cold of his armour, but nothing else.
The Seeker met his eyes, and they were filled with fear. "Please don't think too much into it. I got really confused and then I… I'm still confused."
Alphonse could tell by the gentle shake of her voice that she was not lying. "I presume it is because you dislike me. If that is true, you do not need to hide it."
"It isn't that," Zoe assured him, and she changed how her hands were holding the coffee. "Trust me, I wouldn't have kissed you if I disliked you. It's more… I don't want to lose you."
"You have not lost me, Zoe," Alphonse said, wishing he could hold Zoe's hand. Maker, why did they have to be holding coffees? Something in her expression looked very familiar. "Are you worried about Samson?"
"Samson?" Zoe looked bewildered. "What made you think of that?"
"You have a similar look on your face as when you talk about him," Alphonse said.
Zoe paused. "You're partially right. I am worried about Samson. Does it matter?"
Alphonse was growing increasingly suspicious. "I find it confusing. If he was only a friend, why did you decide to walk away when I expressed – yes, indirectly – that I want to be more than your friend?"
"I don't know!" Zoe blurted out, almost spilling her mug. "I told you I'm confused."
It was apparent Zoe was as frustrated about this as he was, for it was incredibly unusual for her to lose control of her emotions.
"Is there any information I am missing about the Samson story?" Alphonse requested, trying to sound level-headed.
The Seeker sipped her coffee twice before responding. "Only one detail."
"Can you tell me?"
"It's… not something you will like hearing."
"I will decide that."
Sighing, Zoe said, "Okay. Missing information. The night before Samson left the Gallows, Samson and I slept together, but don't get the wrong idea. It wasn't romantic. It was… uh..."
"Erotic?"
Zoe laughed. "No! I didn't do it because of… well. You see, there was a lot going on."
"Clearly there was." Alphonse placed his mug on the ground and was careful not to kick it over. "Perhaps you do not like the idea of having feelings for anybody?"
"No, that's not true," Zoe disagreed. "I mean, fine. Let's pretend for the sake of argument. I will pretend for one moment that I do think of Samson like that." She inhaled carefully. "What does that change?"
Alphonse stepped closer to Zoe, enough that he could have brushed his fingers against her sleeve. "A fair question. What does?"
"Nothing," Zoe said without hesitation. "Nothing changes. I would still move here, I would still write to him. Everything would stay exactly the same." Her face went stern and she sipped her coffee. "But I don't think of him like that, so it doesn't matter."
"What doesn't matter?"
"It doesn't matter that he's broken," Zoe said, her voice cracking. "It doesn't matter that I can't help him, that I lost my chance to get to know him, that I might not see him ever again." Her eyes shone with tears, and she became difficult to understand. "It already hurts enough... as it is. I don't want to… think about him as anything else. It would… it would hurt more."
Though she talked as if all those details mattered to her. Zoe looked down to hide her expression and cried with an intensity Alphonse had rarely seen from anyone. He waited, for he knew Zoe was clever and sensible enough to face her own reflection with some objectivity.
As her body shook her drink slightly spilled onto her fingers and she flinched and jerked as it did.
"Please don't look at me like that," Zoe blubbered with red, grief-stricken eyes.
"Like what?"
"As though I have done something wrong. I already know, alright?!" She looked enraged and distraught in equal amounts. It was alarming. Perhaps she reserved that expression for the malificarum she been ordered to murder.
He didn't think his expression showed anything except concern.
"I was trying to be patient. I want you to come to your own conclusions and not take into account what I think."
"But I care about what you think," she implored.
"I am not judging you."
Zoe bit her lip and tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. "Maker, I feel terrible about everything to do with Samson. I feel like I could have prevented him falling to pieces if I had made better choices. If I could redo everything… if I hadn't been so petty and snobbish. Everyone does that so often here, and it makes me wonder what's wrong with them, what was wrong with me? Every day I am reminded of it, surrounded by it, like the Maker's trying to punish me. It's so hard to see past that." She looked away and sniffed. "I keep wondering if Samson would have asked for my help a lot sooner if I had let myself get close. But I'll never know the answer to that. And that kills me."
The situation was complicated, yet it definitely seemed like Zoe had held herself back from pursuing a more meaningful relationship with Samson, and now that was no longer possible. She sobbed more. It seemed these feelings had been repressed for a long time. Alphonse was at a loss for words at the waterfall of emotion that had befallen her, at how much she had been hiding inside. Even after he had kissed her, she had not looked afraid. He had never seen her afraid before. While he wanted to hold her, he stayed put.
Zoe drank the rest of her coffee and placed the mug on the ground, as her shaking lessened. "I guess I do have feelings of some description. Andraste's tits, but… I don't know how to explain it. I don't even know when it started. It could have been in the Gallows -"
"Please, we have figured out one mystery, let's not confuse you more," Alphonse interrupted. He should have known there was more to the story when she'd brushed over the details, especially since she was a Marcher. It seemed she was struggling with more than feelings about him, but herself.
"Whatever it is, it isn't the same as…" She went pink. "how I feel about you."
Unbidden Alphonse smiled. "You feel something towards me? I hope it is a pleasant feeling."
Zoe nodded. "Yes. By Andraste, I am so sorry that I ran away from you at Wintersend. I was really scared… of my own feelings, I guess. And now I am too." Her teary, bloodshot eyes were the most vulnerable sight he had witnessed, yet somehow calming like rain.
It was an appropriate moment as any to share one of his own regrets. "I'm sorry I kissed you."
"What? No," Zoe said, earnestly. "Don't apologize about that."
"I was a fool. I was too forward."
"No." Zoe moved closer to him. "I like that about you."
They looked into each other's eyes. Alphonse expressed what he was most afraid to, "I would like to be more than your friend. I hope you feel the same."
Zoe waited until she was composed enough to answer. He was taller than her, so she went on her toes to kiss his nose. "I would like that. Thank you for listening to me."
Like before, Alphonse wanted to kiss her back, but he hugged her instead, the far smarter decision. "I'm sorry I couldn't say it before."
"Don't worry about it," Zoe said when they broke apart. "I've seen a lot worse. Th-thanks for the coffee. You're so sweet."
Their relationship progressed simply. Whenever Alphonse was expecting something to go wrong, it didn't. Once they felt prepared for physical intimacy, they rented a room in an Inn, because it was impossible to get privacy in the Spire or Cathedral Seeker barracks. As he walked up the stairs, he was acutely aware of how little experience he had compared to some of his peers, yet Zoe assured him it didn't matter, and she was in a similar situation. He'd had two awkward sexual encounters in his teenage years and had visited a brothel after finishing his Templar training at eighteen, only to find out it was nothing special and he could do without it. This would be the first time he was doing something with a person he felt a strong bond with, and not the result of recklessness or inanity. It was more common for him to feel physically allured to men, so it was interesting to realise this was the strongest romantic bond he had shared with a woman as well.
As far as Inn's went, this one was homely, although not so upper class that nobles would have rented all the rooms and scoffed at the 'immature young guests'. Middle to upper middle-class guests passed them in the corridors. Alphonse was pleased they had their own bath, flower scented soap, a plant by the window, a spotless curtains and rugs. Tobacco stains and beetles were unfortunately common at cheaper places.
After talking nonchalantly on the bed for a while, the amount of cuddling and kissing increased, and soon enough Zoe was taking off her clothes. Her back to him, she stood out of the bed.
Alphonse couldn't decide if it was because she was shy or overconfident and teasing. Her legs and arms were well toned. Even the scars down parts of her back and thighs were enticing.
The last of her underclothes fell to the floor and she peered over her shoulder and met his gaze.
In silence, Alphonse saw apprehension in her eyes, reflected by the fire.
"Is something the matter, darling?" he probed.
"I haven't been with many men," she admitted, "I think I've forgotten how to do everything. I have to learn it all over again."
Her cheeks flushed pink.
"Well, firstly." Alphonse tried to make it easier for her. "You may turn around and face me, or I could approach you. There are many options."
Zoe grinned. "That's only two options."
Alphonse gave a half-hearted shrug, not minding staring at her aimlessly for a little while. Goose pimples became visible by the glow of the fire. Reluctantly, peering up at the ceiling as if to see if the Maker was watching, Zoe span around and stopped at the edge of the bed. She had one arm covering her breasts, hiding still.
Alphonse was in awe of her. She was so….
"Don't," Zoe said threateningly, "call me beautiful."
She let her other arm fall and Alphonse was scared she might try to kill him with that Seeker power of hers. Her eyes were like flames.
What was he supposed to say?
Alphonse sat up straighter and reached out one of his fingers. "I don't see what is so appalling with calling you that if it is true?"
The woman seemed to explode. "Because there's more to me than that! People look at me and make this bollocks connection that because I'm beautiful that I'm perfect, that I don't have any flaws. It isn't true. It feels so cheap and meaningless, like people aren't really seeing who I am."
The anger seemed completely misplaced. He had no idea where she had received this notion from.
"I've always seen who you are," Alphonse said mildly. "Why do you think I want to say that you're beautiful?"
The corner of Zoe's lip twitched, though her expression was the same. "And if a malificar disfigured me, would your opinion of me change?"
"Apart from worrying about your injury, no, I don't think so," he admitted. "I won't lie. My body likes what it sees, but I find our conversations and your laugh incredibly stimulating too. My mind likes those qualities."
Zoe derisively snorted. "I get it now. Reading is masturbation to you."
"In a way," Alphonse said with a smile. "I understand your concern. There are an over abundance of fools in this world who are less self-aware than we are, and they cannot tell the difference between loving a body and a mind."
Zoe approached him finally and gently pushed his shoulders back. As she climbed onto the bed next to him, she ran her fingertips curiously down his neck. Her expression was calmer now, softer. "Do you know the difference?"
"I do, ma biche. And I know that I love you, every charming detail," Alphonse said. The endearment, despite meaning 'my doe' sounded a lot like 'bitch'. Though when Zoe explained this, he only found more appeal in using it. So Zoe started calling him a pastry in return.
He waited for that to happen, but it didn't.
Zoe moved her face closer to his and paused before she reached his mouth. She looked somewhat disconnected to the present situation. Her gaze was far away though not cold. A puzzle was piecing together behind her eyes.
But when Alphonse looked deeper, he realized that something inside her was also falling apart.
"I love you too," she said.
When they joined bodies, Zoe had never seemed more alive. Alphonse felt more at home in that Inn, a place he'd never been, than the Spire he'd spent nearly his entire life.
An explosion burst from somewhere behind him that ached Alphone's eardrums.
He turned to Ser Noah, Phillipa's lover, who also looked bewildered by the sound. The exterior of the Winter Palace was ravishingly lit by lanterns, glittering like stars. Through connections to the Chantry they had been invited to the Empress's ball for work purposes. Apparently members of the Inquisition were supposed to be here, so hoping to meet them, they accepted the invitation without question. Besides the odd bout of chatter, Cicadas were all they'd listened to for hours. They also inhaled smoke from the other Templars who were getting bored or stressed from guarding the gates.
Alphonse empathized with, but still hated, anyone who smoked. Just like he empathized with, but still hated, anyone who took lyrium.
Like himself.
They'd managed to fend off the Venatori that had come by this entrance, but it hadn't been clear what had happened on the other end of the gardens.
"Should we abandon the post?" Noah asked tentatively. Like Alphonse, his friend's Orlesian accent now had inflections of Marcher.
Alphonse pursed his lips. "No. Empress Celene and Leliana are counting on us to be here."
"Yes."
He didn't like the sound of this explanation. What if the Inquisition needed reinforcements? There wasn't only the Inquisitor inside, but Zoe's old friend Cullen, Phillipa…. And Zoe herself.
He clenched his hands into fists. No more cicadas. Alphonse wanted to kill it. More second-hand smoke slithered into his lungs, and he wanted to kill his team mates.
There was perfect synchronicity in the next moment. As if they had read each other's minds, Alphonse and Noah turned around and darted toward where the explosion had come from.
Alphonse swore to himself in Orlesian as he approached. Scorch marks slashed across the tiles from a fire in the garden. Steam gushed around it from mages trying to put it out.
He skidded to a stop at the bottom of one of the enormous staircases and gaped. One of the balconies had literally been blasted to the ground. Smashed tiles, stone and brick spread across the tiles.
"That looks incredibly expensive," Alphonse said, slowly, stunned by the sight.
Other sounds rolled in, shouts of people, some angry, some frivolous, others…. Happy?
What the fuck is on the agenda this evening? he thought. There didn't appear to be any fighting. Maybe everything was okay after all.
He'd walked halfway up the stairs when Phillipa stepped out onto the balcony in her flowing blue dress, balancing her mask in her bust. Some of the ruffles had holes burnt into it. She gasped seeing them… or rather, Noah.
"My sunlight!" she exclaimed. Alphonse snorted at her fake Orlesian accent.
He watched Noah dash up the stairs to meet her. "My dearest, how was the dance? What happened? Who died?"
Phillipa hugged her Templar lover and sighed. "Worry not, my love. None of our friends have left us." Alphonse continued to climb the stairs as the noise from inside the Palace augmented. "In fact, the commotion is over. We can go home soon."
"Did… did we… are we leaving Orlais with the Inquisition?" Noah murmured, unsure of himself. "Was meeting with Commander Cullen a success?"
"Yes, my sunlight," Phillipa assured him. She gave a curious smile in Alphonse's direction. "We will be traveling to Ferelden at last."
Alphonse grinned. He had wanted to leave Orlais for too long!
Noah sighed in relief. He'd probably been stressing the entire night about it.
"Darling Phillipa," Alphonse said slowly, wondering if he was allowed to go inside, "where is Zoe?"
Phillipa glanced over her shoulder. "She should be…"
"I'm here."
Still wearing her jewelled mask, Zoe paced out of the door Phillipa had come through. She was in a dress too beautiful to be seen in. It was a light pink and her hair had been curled in places for the occasion. Alphonse had helped her get ready, but it still took his breath away to see her in it (to be fair, she was usually in chainmail or armour).
A chill went down his spine. Zoe didn't seem right. Her expression was cold and distant. She often got like this with the Seekers, Phillipa said, although Alphonse had rarely seen her like that.
"How was it?" Alphonse enquired, dreading the answer. Even though Cullen asked Phillipa and Zoe not to draw attention to themselves, it had always been obvious from intel that fighting was going to occur at the event.
Zoe smiled. "It was fun. Thanks." She walked to in front of him. "I need to go back in a second. Cullen would like extra help with cleaning all the guts and broken champagne glasses. Do you have a highlight of the night?"
Alphonse knew exactly how to answer. He'd been planning and agonizing it for months. Was it the right moment? No, he should just do it.
He opened one of his gauntlets and reached for a velvet pouch he had slipped inside. It came out with difficulty.
"Knowing you are safe," he said, "and knowing I want to keep you that way by my side until we go to the Maker."
The violet pouch fit into the palm of his hand. Undoing the string, he tipped a ring out of it. In a rush he clumsily lowered on one knee, and realized he forgot to take out his sword and propose the extra formal way. Improvising, he held out the small velvet pouch and the ring with two hands, and bowed his head. His ankles shook to hold him in place. "Please marry me, Zoe Elizabeth Luitgard."
Phillipa screamed in excitement. It echoed throughout the courtyard. Noah stamped his foot in shock from the sudden noise.
Maker, she's so eccentric sometimes.
"Shut up, sister!" Zoe took the words out of his mouth. "Someone's going to think you are dying."
"B-b-but!" Phillipa stuttered, sounding overwhelmed.
"I'm getting proposed to!" Zoe roared, "Not you!"
Alphonse would have laughed if he wasn't so nervous. Wait, maybe he laughed anyway. Slowly, he peered up at his favourite person.
Thankfully, she did not look shocked. They had discussed it before. He was ninety five percent sure he was going to get a 'yes' answer.
A pause went by where they didn't break eye contact.
Oh Maker. No…
She walked so she was right in front of him.
This was either the incoming apocalypse or when the Maker would bring him to the Golden City. He wanted that Heaven so badly.
Dreading the worst, Alphonse watched as Zoe removed her mask and smiled at him. Her eyes were watering.
"I love you," she said, and her voice radiated warmth.
"I love you too," Alphonse said, meanwhile thinking, why are you replying so slowly?
Zoe ignored the voices carrying from inside the palace.
"Marrying you sounds wonderful," she said, her smile splitting into a grin. "I am so happy you asked. My answer is 'yes'".
Alphonse thought he might cry on the spot from the sheer relief alone. He blocked out the cheers, wolf whistle, and whatever other nonsense from the crowd. All that mattered was her.
"Can I put the ring on?" Zoe asked, her eyes alight with a lust to wear it.
"No. Throw it over the balcony," Alphonse joked. He picked it up with two fingers. "Here."
As he stood Zoe placed the silver ring on.
It was a wonderful little thing, the silver melded in such a way to look like ribbons crossing over each other. A small, polished veil quartz lay in the middle, the deep emerald that Alphonse had chosen to bring out the colour of Zoe's eyes.
"It's a fantastic ring. Where did you get it from?"
"That's secret," Alphonse said. "It was custom made."
"It's gorgeous."
"Like you, my love."
Alphonse placed the pouch away in the gauntlet, placed it back on, rose to his feet and kissed her. She eagerly returned it. The onlookers clapped.
"Can we leave?" Alphonse said.
"I am sure we won't be missed," Zoe said with a winsome smile. "I will let Phillipa know."
His fiancée dashed to her closest friend. While she told Phillipa a few others told him congratulations. Alphonse thanked them, although his mind was elsewhere. He couldn't wait to hold her in his arms and become sleep deprived for a good reason.
Zoe hurried back to him, her shoes clattering, a broad grin on her face. "We can go."
They held hands and walked down the staircase back towards the Palace entrance. It was a long walk, although worth it. It was much quieter here. The gardens looked delightful at night, with all the flower beds and fountains. He had chosen this event for a proposal because it was worth it for the ornate sights and electric atmosphere.
"Which Inn should we go to?" Zoe asked.
"As long as it isn't in a Red lantern district I don't care," Alphonse said. "I think it is best we stop by Noah's house to collect our normal clothes before departing."
They headed to the front gates. As they did, Zoe asked questions like what led him to choose The Winter Palace as the proposal location, how long had he been planning to propose, among others.
Numerous carriages with horses and coachmen were waiting outside the Palace, perhaps anticipating that guests would be leaving soon.
"I contemplated a more private proposal, but changed my mind," Alphonse said. "Would you like to hear what I planned to say in that circumstance?"
"Yes, please," Zoe said eagerly.
Grinning, Alphonse cleared his throat. "I love you as immeasurably as I felt the first evening I kissed you," he said, "and I desire to kiss you as carelessly and passionately as I did then, as often as I can without reason, until we reach the end of our days." Zoe smiled like a fool at the speech. "Will you stay by my side no matter where the world takes us, be diplomatic as Orlesians are when we disagree, and allow me to spank you on occasion?"
Zoe giggled. "My, my, you make marriage sound so inviting! I like this speech better too."
He kissed her. "I thought you might," and waved down a carriage.
They had arrived at the Winter Palace in separate transport, so it was comforting to travel away from it in a carriage together. The adrenaline of battle was starting to die, yet the crash seemed tantamount to the anticipation he felt. They held hands. Zoe's hands were cold, although he was certain he could change that. As time passed, he noticed that Zoe was becoming quieter and quieter, and her eyes were glossy, looking out the window.
Eventually she asked, "When would you like to have a wedding?"
"I'm not sure," Alphonse admitted. "To be frank, I haven't been focused on it lately."
"I was wondering if you would be comfortable with a two- or three-year engagement."
Alphonse's heart sank. Maybe it meant nothing, but the last time they'd had a 'if we get married' conversation, Zoe had imagined she would be so excited she would want it arranged as soon as possible.
"That is… a different time frame than I was expecting," Alphonse said. Perhaps this was about the lyrium. "Is there anything more you wish to discuss, darling?"
"I don't feel safe with this war going on. And I want to have overcome anything foreseeably difficult with you before I get married to you."
Even though Alphonse could understand this, his mind still tried to place blame on himself. "Is it because of the lyrium? I… You know I don't want to be taking it. With the Inquisition, when we get to Ferelden, I swear I will leave the Order for you. I will find a way."
He hated what Samson's inadvertent self-destructiveness had done to Zoe's view of the world and sense of self. Once he had learned the whole story, he didn't want anything to do with that life… and he knew Zoe didn't want it either. Now he had known her for so long, he didn't think any experience had made her more cynical and hateful of the world than the one of a withdrawal gone awry - the knowledge that if someone was too sick, the world would turn away.
Zoe looked like she was about to cry. "I'm worried about that too, but I know it has to be done. Cullen told me tonight he went off lyrium. He's okay now. It gives me hope that you can as well. I think the Inquisition can do great things." He peered into her eyes once again, and he could almost feel her fear in his very bones. "When the war is over, I'll help you with your withdrawal, I'll help you find more work after. I won't give up on you. We can get married without lyrium withdrawal looming over our heads."
This fear was unusual for Zoe. What else had Cullen told her, if he had told her anything?
Alphonse wished he didn't feel so fearful all of a sudden. "What if it doesn't work?"
"I'll marry you anyway," Zoe said, looking earnest. "So long as you promise to keep respecting me and giving me your time, I'll stay by your side even if the lyrium changes how we can live our lives. I want us to give withdrawal a proper try first, really fight it. Is that okay? I don't mean to sound selfish, if that's how it sounds, but it's really important to me."
"Yes," Alphonse said, gripping her hands tighter. "Of course, I understand, my darling. It is important to me as well. Please wait for me to withdraw, and I will support you through whatever you need in return."
"Just get in my knickers already," Zoe told him.
Ignoring etiquette Alphonse and Zoe both grabbed each other and kissed so fervently that it was as though they were in the middle of lovemaking, except all their clothes were on. His fiancée may have had that in mind as she moved her legs closer to him and wrapped her arms as carefully around him as she could. It was difficult to remain upright in the carriage.
Part of him wanted to stop her. They had to try being professional, a reputable Seeker and Templar, until they returned to their Inn. Then again, the coachman was outside.
His body didn't care. Making a sound of enjoyment he allowed their deep, near obscene kissing to continue. An erection was forming beneath his armour. Maker it ached.
Zoe moved his hands to her breasts. He ran his hands over them, and she responded in approval. She probably would have been overjoyed to be stripped naked in the carriage. As tempting as it was, Alphonse knew it would be a step too far. If they weren't in work uniform it might have been easier to justify.
They entered the Inn after a quick stop over to collect their belongings and locked the door immediately. The room lit by a single candle, Zoe went into the bathroom to run a shower. While the water warmed, Zoe's hands went for Alphonse's armour and his hands went for the ribbons at the back of Zoe's dress. Untying everything as quickly as possible they became slovenlier with their kisses.
"We will need to wash you, filthy young lady," Alphonse said.
"So what? You probably smell worse," Zoe replied.
"Your excitement will ruin your underclothes if you leave them on much longer."
"This is a problem?"
"Very much so," Alphonse said.
Eagerly Alphonse helped her remove the dress, her underclothes, and once the last piece of his armour was on the bathroom tiles, they stepped into the shower. Sex would usually be a difficult task to achieve logistically with a lack of space and slippery tiles, but Zoe was able to withstand uncomfortable positions, even enjoyed it. Over time she had learned to be at his mercy, mentally and physically. It was beautiful that she had learned to trust so much. It had taken a lot of practice.
There was sex, and then there was sex so fiery he could become heated at the memory of it, or so tender it could ease feelings of loneliness or illness. This was an encounter that shared both those qualities. To an outsider it would look profane and outrageous. And it would be as wrong to deny such judgements, as it would be for anyone to claim it was meaningless passion.
The war concluded a mere months later at the defeat of a monster called Corypheus. Captured followers were brought to the Inquisition's fortress for questioning. Outside that castle, and the main hall of Skyhold, Alphonse witnessed tears envelop her. The pain of the past revealed itself once again, still lodged in a woman of her mid-thirties.
It floored him how persistent grief could be, especially for a person who was still alive. Zoe never talked about Samson like a living person, but someone who had died long ago. Now Alphonse had seen Samson's face, he understood. That man did not match the image Alphonse had conjured of him from Zoe's stories. That Samson was energetic, unconventionally handsome, foolish and uncouth. That Samson was gone, preserved in Zoe's memory, in Cullen's, in Phillipa's... And to some extent, in his, from imagining the kind of life Zoe had left behind.
A/n: Thank you Schattenriss for beta-ing the Wintersend scene.
The lyrics in the chapter are from the well-known french song called "Tous les cris des SOS", originally by Daniel Balavoine. It's been covered officially about 5 times. The cover I think fits the best here is the one by Christine and the Queens. That being said, I think the lyrics fit pretty well with this story overall.
